


a misty evening stroll

by irishcookie



Series: your partner in crime [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, slight spoilers for the upcoming punisher series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8295574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishcookie/pseuds/irishcookie
Summary: Karen just wants to go home.  Frank just wants to talk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently my brain wanted to make this a series now --- I still have indicated that there are slight spoilers for the upcoming series but that is based on set photos. I have no idea what is going to happen. I am just having fun with the characters. Thank you so much to everyone who let me know how much they enjoyed the first part!

Karen is picking at a sandwich ( _why does she ask for pickles when she always throws them to the side later?_ ) when Ellison sticks his head into her office. She pauses, her fingers smudged with mayo and then takes in his face.

She knows that look (it feels good in a way; to have been there long enough to decipher Ellison’s body language). 

She grabs for a napkin and then sighs. “How bad?” 

Ellison purses his lips and sinks down in the chair across from her. He’s slumped a little and his tie is loosened at his neck. He’s had one hell of a day while she’s been shuttered away clacking at her keyboard. “Depends on how we spin it.” He tries to smile but she knows the anatomy of a false one all too well. 

Karen pushes her late lunch to the side. “Lay it out.” 

“My source in the department told me police and rescue are on the scene of a particularly brutal shooting. One victim — unsure if he’ll survive,” Ellison begins. He pauses for dramatic effect and Karen wonders if he ever thought about going in front of the camera to report the news. “It’s Hank Coldwell.” 

_Shit._

The Hank Coldwell she has spent the better part of the week researching. The Hank Coldwell who she was set to expose wide open on Monday morning. The Hank Coldwell whose file she had fed to Frank Castle on a bench in Brooklyn. 

_Double shit._

Karen wonders if she looks the slightest bit guilty (does this make her an accessory?). She tries to keep her reaction neutral, just the right amount of shock to warrant the situation. “Any leads?” 

“Too early to tell of course but I am sure you can make any number of guesses given the research you’ve shared with me — mafia ties, pissed off business partners, bitter ex-lovers.” 

She relaxes just a little in her seat. “So what do you want to do?” 

They spend the hour discussing where to go from there. If they run the expose, perhaps it will give some context to Coldwell’s current state. However, they run the risk of eliciting backlash. Doubly true if he dies before the morning. The public sometimes takes a very don’t speak ill of the dead approach, especially given that Coldwell has been able to present himself as such an upstanding citizen (donating tons of ill gotten money to charity helps). 

In the end, Karen’s story (and all the work that has gone into it) is shelved for the time being. A straight forward report on the shooting is filed and Ellison promises her the moment the public’s knee jerk reaction subsides he will run the piece. 

Karen is not happy but she knows better to argue with Ellison. 

It’s late by the time she clocks out. She buttons her coat as she walks, aware that she might get rained on before she reaches home. She makes it a few blocks and realizes that sandwich still rests on the corner of her desk. She wrinkles her nose but the thought of day old soggy bread does not deter her from the fact that she is starving. 

She ducks into a Thai place on the corner. She’s been there enough to know what she likes. While they prepare her order, she leans against the wall and tells herself that tomorrow she won’t wait until her stomach is trying to claw its way out to eat. She knows that is a lie but is nice to think in this quiet moment that she can take proper care of herself. 

As the man behind the counter hands her a paper bag that smells like heaven, Karen catches movement out of the corner of her eyes. She turns her head slightly and a familiar outline stalks across the window. She stands there, fingers gripping her supper. _He wouldn’t come here. Right? He wouldn’t come anywhere near here_. 

“Miss?” 

Karen’s body starts before she gives the man a quick smile and thanks. She opens the door to the takeout slowly, her head moving in the direction the figure had headed in. Only a few stragglers none of them who look like Frank Castle. She mentally curses herself and then begins to walk — she definitely needs to take better care of herself, or at least find a way to soothe her battered mind. It has started to mist now and it clings to her skin immediately. She doubles her steps, determined to stay relatively dry. 

She gets maybe a block when he steps in beside her. It happens so smoothly that she doesn’t notice for a beat. Then her body jerks. “Jesus _Christ!_ ” She can’t tell if Frank looks apologetic because his face is covered by an over-sized hood (imagine that — something too big for him). She does notice that his shoulders slump a little. 

“You’re walking home alone, ma’am?” 

“You’re stalking me now?” There is heat in her voice. _Maybe_ because he has made her an accessory to a crime. **Probably** because he has implied that she can’t protect herself. 

He chuckles (a rare sound from him). 

She is quiet for a time, letting the obvious statement boil over before she actually says it. “I should have told you to wait before going after him. It would have given me time to get the real story out there. People wouldn’t have blinked when he was shot.” She falls silent, realizing that is a particularly cold thing to say. For a split second she thinks that he is going to call her on it but then she reminds herself of who he is and what he has done. 

He does, however, shake his head. “Wasn’t me.” 

Karen has heard that before (right before he shielded her from a barrage of bullets). She doesn’t question his statement; she believes him. Still, she is surprised. It isn’t like she didn’t know what he was going to do with the information she had given him. She wants to stop, to face him to continue the conversation but knows that will call more attention to them than continuing on their current path. “Who?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits and she knows he is irked by that. “I was able to track the little weasel down with what you gave me but I found him laid out like that. Almost considered finishing the job…” She tenses next to him. She knows Coldwell is a horrible excuse for a human being (his crimes turn her stomach) but still it’s a knee jerk reaction to hear someone talk about death as casually as Frank does. “Heard the sirens and figured I should be as far away from there as possible. Don’t worry about the file. Burned it after I read it.” He jabs at his temple with his pointer finger. “It’s all up here.” 

She’s relieved. Not because he burned the file — she had trusted him to keep that safe. No, she is relieved that he walked away and avoided the fallout (in the back of her head she reminds herself that she once told him that maybe he did belong in a prison). “So there’s someone else.” She sighs, thinking of all the people her research says Coldwell was entangled with. “There are _many_ someone else’s.” 

“A guy like that probably has people lined up to kill him,” Frank agrees. “Just have to figure out which one wanted it bad enough.” 

In her head, she is already there — pulling names out and sticking them on a short list. He must read it on her face because his fingers close gently around her elbow halting her progress. She does face him now. Thanks to a street light a few feet away she can see the ridges of his nose and chin. The swept of his brow. There is the beginnings of bruise on his cheek. He might not have taken care of Coldwell but he hasn’t been idle. She also notes (with amusement) that the beard is still there but it has been trimmed. He no longer looks as wild. She can’t help but smile though it doesn’t stay long given how he is looking at her. 

“Look, I am not stupid enough to think I can tell you to stop looking into this. I know you’ll just give me a look and that looks means I’m about two steps away from catching all kinds of hell,” Frank starts and his hand falls from her elbow. “Still, I gotta say something. So — _be careful_.” 

She nods and then says what she should have said the other day (albeit in a roundabout way). 

“ **You too**.”


End file.
